Celestial Land and Sea (23 page)

She'd managed to keep Gráinne O'Malley off her mind for the entire afternoon, with both her heart and her attention firmly fixed on Andy. However, as she looked out across London now with the sun setting in the sky, her mind and heart raced as everything she had locked away several hours ago instantly came flooding back to her in a surge of overwhelming emotion.

A tear trickled down her cheek.

Andy must have seen the tear out of the corner of his eye, as he turned to face Grace. He couldn't possibly understand why she was crying, Grace was sure of that, but she didn't question it as she watched him lift his hand toward her face to wipe her cheek with his index finger. He held it there for a moment before he cupped her other cheek with his right hand. He didn't speak as he leaned towards her, but pressed his lips against hers.

Grace had never known a sensation so magical: as Andy held onto her back, his body pressed firmly against her own, she felt like she was being kissed for the very first time. The more he kissed her, the more she felt herself floating on air. She was a free spirit soaring through the sky without worry or care. Their connection had made the moment something special that belonged only to them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"H
ow can you possibly prefer cricket to football?"

"We played a lot of it at school. Don't get me wrong, I love football. How could I not?" Andy removed his coat and slid it onto the back of his chair. The conversation had started ten minutes ago when he arrived to find that James was the only other person in the office. James had asked Andy what he was up to that day, and he'd mentioned cricket. James had practically fallen off his seat.

"Fair enough; but I still don't see how you can prefer any sport to football. Football's the greatest thing in the world!"

The door clicked shut as Grace came bustling in, her handbag wedged underneath her arm as she tried to balance the box she was struggling to carry. She dropped them both onto her desk. Andy left James to muse over his football teams and started for Grace's side of the room.

"Hungry this morning, Grace?" He nodded toward the large box of doughnuts that was now on top of a pile of loose papers.

"Oh, those?" she responded, flustered after her battle with the combination of vicious wind and the climb up the staircase to the office. "They're not for me." She unbuttoned and removed her coat, dropping her gloves into her bag. She reached in and pulled out an A4 plastic folder. "Is Mr Barrie in yet?"

The office door opened.

"Don't be so stupid, Moira. Of course I haven't got time to do that. No, you'll have to pick the kids up from their club. No, I've just told you. I haven't got time... Goodbye, Moira." He jabbed at his phone with a thick finger to end the call.

"I think he might
have just arrived," Andy replied after the whirlwind had headed into his own office, Fran following him as she clutched onto two cups of takeaway coffee.

"Well, that's good. Because in here," she held up the folder, "is the finished article."

"You've done it? Fantastic! Can I read it?"

"I'd rather you didn't. Not yet, anyway. I'm really nervous about it as it is. I have no idea what he's going to think."

"And you went with the pirate thing in the end?"

"I stuck with the pirate thing, yeah."

"Well, I'm sure he's going to love it. I know that may seem like a bit of a stretch for Mr Barrie, but you're a good writer. He'll be able to see that."

"I hope you're right, Andy."

"I know I'm right." He placed his hand on her arm. She didn't flinch at the touch. He was smiling at her, his body turned away so that James couldn't see his face.

"I had fun the other night. Thank you," he said softly.

"So did I," she said as she smiled back. She was relieved that Andy wasn't able to read her thoughts, as she couldn't help picturing him from the Sunday morning. He'd emerged out of her bathroom after his shower with only a towel wrapped round his waist, his hair messy and water dripping onto his torso. The image was now ingrained in Grace's mind, and she didn't intend to remove it.

He hadn't been able to stay long in the morning as he was due to attend some sports event—Grace didn't really ask many questions about it—but he was there long enough for them to share jam on toast for breakfast. It was a silly thing to be amused by, Grace knew it, but for so long she'd fantasised about that sort of thing, and about Andy, that she still couldn't quite believe any of it had happened.

"It's not like me at all, you know. I don't usually jump into bed with...well, you know." He blushed, trying to ignore the sound of his own voice.

"No, Andy, neither do I." She too was blushing now. And yet, she didn't seem to mind.

"It's just that I...how do I say this? You're very...Grace, I like you." He spoke a little too loudly, snapping his head round to make sure that James hadn't heard. Luckily he'd already put his headphones in to zone out for the morning. "I really like you. I was kind of hoping we could do it again sometime."

"Andy—"

"Not just the sex," he said, catching himself. "All of it."

"Andy, I'd love to."

Grace had never seen such an excited grin on another person. It was definitely the answer he'd been hoping for.

"Well...good! I'm glad. I better get started with some work as it's a day of tight deadlines for me, I'm afraid. Do come over and let me know how you get on though won't you?"

"Of course I will."

He winked at her before turning his attention to his computer. The butterflies in Grace's stomach refused to escape her. They'd arrived when he first kissed her on the top of Hampstead Heath. They were still there when he started to unbutton her shirt back in her bedroom. They were definitely still there in the morning when she woke up with her arm wrapped around him, and they still showed no sign of leaving. It was all so new and exciting; for the first time in years she had discovered a real reason to get up in the morning, something more important than her writing and career and personal success. She had found love.

Once Andy had kissed her farewell and headed off on Sunday morning, Grace had pulled all her energy together and forced herself through the article. It took her most of the day, and she was sure on several occasions that she wasn't going to get it finished, but she knew she had to power through it or she'd never get it done.

She took the article out of the plastic folder and clutched onto it. In a few seconds she would walk into Mr Barrie's office with her head held high and present her work to him. What happened after that was out of her control.

The door opened and Fran walked out. It was now or never.

Grace picked up the box of doughnuts and carried them into Mr Barrie's office, pausing outside the door. She knocked lightly against the frosted glass panel. There was no answer. Should she knock again in case he hadn't heard her?

"What is it?" came the grunt from the other side of the door.

Grace pushed open the door just enough so that she could stand in the gap between the door and its frame. "Mr Barrie, sir, I have something I'd like you to read. If you don't mind, that is..." Her nerves almost caused her to stutter.

'Well, come in then; don't just stand there. Sit!"

"Right, yes. Sorry." She tried not to sound as flustered as she felt. The last time she'd been inside Mr Barrie's private office had been her interview day. He still had the same high-backed green leather chair trimmed with metal studs. The dim lighting, a product of there being no windows in the small space, darkened the blood red carpet. There was a wooden display cabinet to the left of his desk filled with family photos and hand-made gifts from his children; Grace expected he kept them there to prevent his wife from suspecting his adulterous behaviour on the off chance that she came to the office unannounced. Not that it
would
happen—in the years Grace worked at Anchor she'd not once actually seen any of Mr Barrie's family.

"I also thought you might like these," she said as she handed him the box of doughnuts.

There was a mumble from the other side of the desk, which Grace assumed had been a thank you.

She sat down, still clutching onto the article. She was starting to lose all confidence, but she knew she must not let the boss see that if she wanted to convince him that she deserved more responsibilities than those she currently had.

"Mr Barrie, I was wondering if you'd possibly be able to read this? I'd like to know what you think of it. Your opinion would be invaluable—"

"What's it for?" he interrupted.

"Nothing specific," she managed. "It's just something I wanted to write, and I just felt that, if you liked it, then maybe...maybe you'd perhaps.."

"Spit it out, girl!" He licked a piece of strawberry icing from his moustache. "I haven't got all day."

He was right. She had to pull herself together if she was going to make a positive impression on him. This was her only chance, and she knew that all too well. She paused for breath before straightening her posture.

"Mr Barrie, sir, I'm really proud to be part of the Anchor team, but I don't really feel like I'm always given the opportunity to put my abilities to good use. It's not that I have any problem with taking phone calls or sorting through the post, but sometimes—most of the time, in fact—I wish I had a little more to
write
. I wrote this article in the hope that you'd be able to see that I
can
write, and that perhaps you'd allow me to start producing content for the website. Alongside my other responsibilities, of course," she added for good measure.

"And that's it there?" He pointed a sticky finger in the direction of the article.

"Yes, it is. It's about—"

"You don't need to tell me what it's about. If it's a good article, I'll be able to work that out for myself. I'll read it and get back to you. I wouldn't get my hopes up though, if I were you," he grumbled. "Now, please go back to work and do what I pay you to do."

Mr Barrie turned his attention back to the doughnuts. Grace rose from the chair and left the room, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible.

"How did it go?" Andy asked as Grace approached his desk.

"I'm not sure. I handed him the article. He said he'd read it. That's about it. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"Of course it was a good idea! I told you, Grace, he's going to like it."

"I suppose I'd better get back to work. He's definitely not going to have confidence in me if he thinks I'm slacking off!"

Back at her desk Grace pulled up the folder of new emails and forwarded them accordingly: two for Andy; one for James; one for Fran. She had hardly slept the night before, her nerves high concerning the article. She needed to take her mind off it while she waited for Mr Barrie to read it. Observing the office around her—a little bit of people watching never hurt anybody—everyone, it seemed, was busy tapping their keyboards as they knocked out their latest stories.

Although she'd felt a strong connection with what she was writing, with the article coming from her heart as much as it came from her mind, the words had seemed almost fictitious to her, events that had happened to somebody else and not to her—events that had happened to Gráinne O'Malley. And because she had focused so intently on the quality of the article, she had unknowingly started to build a barricade between herself and the life she was writing about. Now that the article had been written, however, and Grace had gained from the experience what was intended, it was apparently time to remove that barricade to allow her time for reflection. Without warning, and with little resistance, Grace began to lose her connection with the present.

Her eyes spun to Andy, who was staring at his computer screen, deep in thought. Except it wasn't Andy. It was Donal, his hair hanging long at his shoulders, his facial hair scruffy and dark. He was no longer dressed in the grey suit and purple tie that Andy had worn that morning, but a tattered shirt soiled by manual labour.

Grace turned her attention to James, who had been bouncing his head up and down to some pop song he was listening to through his headphones, clearly procrastinating from whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. Now, however, his head hung low. He was hunched over, just as Tibbott had been when they were inside the palace at Greenwich, and the same loose clothing hung upon his body. From where she sat Grace could detect the sadness in his eyes.

Queen Elizabeth I sat across the room from her, the large cream skirt of her outfit spilling over the sides of the little office chair. Her ruff curved round her neck, Fran's own red hair resting on its surface as it spilled down from the top of her head. From the side of her face Grace could tell that she looked paler than usual, with more vibrant blush on her cheeks than even Fran would normally have worn.

The door at the far side of the room sprang open suddenly, and Grace turned her head, a sense of wonderment now guiding her movements. The past had become her present, and her head swam in a sea of confused history and identity.

A figure emerged in the doorway, short and stout with a thick moustache.

"Bingham!" Grace muttered to herself, her eyes locked on the spot where he stood.

Between breaths, the room shuddered. The air seemed thick as gelatine as the figures froze in motion. It was only when she heard somebody calling her name that she blinked.

"Grace? Grace! Will you please come into my office?"

Mr Barrie was staring at her from where he stood in the doorway. Grace regained her focus on her usual surroundings. Lord Bingham was gone. Donal and Tibbott and Queen Elizabeth had returned to their previous forms. The room was once again the mundane Anchor office. She had left the sixteenth century behind.

She knew that it was over.

"Yes, Mr Barrie, right away." She leapt out of her seat and headed into his office as swiftly as her legs would take her.